


Wendigo

by incenseandteacups



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: There are a few dead people, Wendigo, corpse, uhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incenseandteacups/pseuds/incenseandteacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm terrible with descriptions - basically, Jean Kirstein was chosen to be sacrificed, to go and serve the man who lives in a castle on a mountain. Classic, right? But when he gets there, he finds out why there's such a stigma around the place - there's some kind of monster. Something that smells like a corpse, eats dead people, and has eyes like coals. And, for whatever reason, it seems to be obsessed with him.<br/>Helping him as he tries to figure out this insane asylum is his guide and roommate, Marco Bodt. Marco is the oldest of the sacrifices, with a huge scar across his face from an encounter with the monster. He's the only one who's ever seen the face of their so-called 'Master', and he's never present at night. Surely, he couldn't know something more about this beast? (Sounds super cheesy but I promise it's not quite as cliche as the description is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> So! Not my first work of fanfiction, but the first one I've ever posted on here. Wish me luck! Also, if there's any mistakes, typos, stuff I didn't follow up on correctly or that seemed a bit choppy, bad dialogue or whatever, please do let me know! I'm kind of a new writer, and I love feedback on what I did right and what I did wrong. Thanks!  
> EDIT: You have no idea how hard it was to get the format I wanted. 
> 
> WENDIGO: win·di·go - A cannibalistic giant; a person who has been transformed into a monster by the consumption of human flesh.

Being a peasant already kinda sucked, but I think I can safely say it's never sucked more until this particular moment.

  
There are splinters digging into my back, and they only bury themselves deeper when I try shifting away. The shackles I'm wearing hurt like hell, rubbing away at my skin and cold enough that my wrists and ankles ache. But this isn't the worst of it, not at all. The worst part of this fucking terrible journey is the way it's going to end.

  
Every year, someone from our village is selected at random to go and work for the oh-so mysterious ass that lives in the mansion up the mountain. This has gone on for...I'd say, a little over ten years, maybe more. I only heard about it when I moved here this winter, so I'm not exactly an expert. The gist of it is, they like to take someone poor, insignificant, since this unknown person doesn't seem to care and the person they send up never returns. Don't wanna sacrifice anyone important, after all.

  
I just arrived here a few weeks ago, I'm jobless, more or less homeless and without connections to anyone; the perfect target. So now, I've been packaged up and tossed in the back of a wagon, wheeling my bumpy way up a mountain. I'm next to two large, foul-smelling packages that are leaking something suspiciously similar to blood. Nice.

  
I'd be a little more terrified, but I'm the kind of person that's all brave until I see what it is to be scared of. It's like I'm too stupid to realize I'm gonna die, except I know I am and it hasn't sunk in yet. A rock hits me in the eye, and I wince, trying to shout a curse at the driver through my gag. He doesn't seem to care, and I'm not surprised.

  
I try to remember who all was taken. There were so many, they read names off of a list when they chose me. A girl, Mikasa - I remember her from my family's trip down here when I was younger. Not that I have a family left, anymore. There were three people that year, I remember - she and another boy I vaguely recall volunteered themselves after their friend was chosen. There had been volunteers before, but never three in the same year. A boy saying he wanted to be taken, after his best friend the last year. A woman stepping up with a grin, apparently wanting to learn about this unusual occurrence. Batshit crazy if you ask me, but of course, I've never felt dedicated enough to anyone that this would even occur to me.

  
The wagon slams to a halt, and I bump the thin wooden board holding me up with so much force that it breaks. All the air in my lungs rushes out as I slam against the ground, and I wheeze for a few moments. My harsh breaths are overshadowed by the crunching of gravel, feet pressing against the ground directly in front of my face.

  
I think I hear a "Get up" grunted through the ringing in my ears, and I'm hauled to my feet. As we walk, I'm not entirely sure that I'm actually walking and not being dragged, but it doesn't make a difference to me. We reach a pole, and my stomach drops.

  
It's covered in slashing marks, like someone took three toddlers with swords and told them to go at it. A large, gnashed up spot where I'm positive someone's head once was lies around the top. This, this is the moment where fear starts to set in, but I'm too beaten up to do shit about it. My shaky legs try to hold me up, but when I collapse anyway I'm allowed to sit.

  
I try to make a little last-conversation attempt, voice raspy. "Done this often, you sick fuck?"

  
I'm met with a painful tug on my shackles, which I'm assuming he's redone around the pole. I'm bent back, on my knees with my wrists bound to my ankles, and I can already tell it'll be torture in an hour. There's no way I'll be able to get out of it, either, not unless I could jump ten feet without using my legs.  
There are two huge thumps, and I can hear him climb back into the wagon. I glance down beside me, only to feel a sick roil in my gut. In a little clearer light, those packages look eerily similar to wrapped corpses. Looking away, I try to keep my mind off it.

  
Similar to my predictions, in an hour, my shoulders and thighs are screaming. Even my ankles hurt, every part of me pulled back into a position that I really shouldn't be in. I've never really been athletic, and I sure as hell haven't been flexible. Night's fallen, too, and I won't lie when I say I'm twitching at every noise. A rustle sounds like a footstep, an animal's call threatening predators and fangs...even the moonlight, something that normally would have been appreciated, adds an eerie feeling to an already terrifying situation.

  
And then I hear it. A heavy, slow breath, a footstep that holds considerable weight. Something that exists very much, existing very largely and very close to me. I would turn my head, but I think I might just piss my pants if it's the monster my head is making up. So, instead, I close my eyes and hold my head down, suddenly feeling exposed. It walks closer to me, and I tense when there's a warm breath on my cheek.

 

The trembling that's started up grows stronger when it moves away, because I hear something that's far more sickening than any breath or footstep. A ripping sound, first of cloth and then wetly of flesh. It's...eating them. The dead people that were brought with me. It's eating them.

  
I fall limp against my bonds, a choked sound of horror deep in my throat. I'm too scared to open my eyes, to see whatever monster is devouring humans just a few feet from me. I can only imagine that I'm next.

  
There's a pause, and I'm almost relieved until the unbearable sound begins again, on the second person. It's horrible, nauseating, and after a few moments of it starting again I heave, throwing up a good amount of nothing and bile onto the ground in front of me. I've never felt fear like this, never been so utterly horrified.  
Minutes later, the sounds stop. I strain against my shackles as it approaches me, stinging pain accompanying every movement. Something like a mix between a hand and a paw lays on my arm, claws digging in just barely and holding me still. It's face is directly in front of mine, I can feel it, I can smell the blood. Even so, I still can't open my eyes.

  
And then, with that, it's gone. I can't hear it anymore, there's no sound or warmth and the smell of gore has disappeared. In it's place, I hear someone running up, someone that calls my name and is clearly human. There are surprisingly gentle hands, on my wrists, unlocking my chains. When I'm released, I slump over, curling into myself and sobbing. There are more people, now, and they mutter and talk with worried tones. I'm picked up and hoisted like a child onto a broad back, but I don't have it in me to protest.

 

"Why the hell didn't they tell us he was here?"

  
"I don't know, but from the looks of it, it's already visited him."

  
There are vibrations from the person beneath me. They must be talking.

  
"I don't know why the deliverer didn't give us any alert, but who knows what he's seen. We need to get him inside." I almost laugh, but I'm slipping into unconsciousness.

  
I didn't even see anything.

 

**

 

Much, much later, I open my eyes, realizing that I must have passed out. I look around the...room? I'm in a room, now, and there are bandages around my wrists. I'm wearing different clothes, too...I'd be more concerned about that, under normal circumstances.

  
I pull off the blanket that's been carefully laid over me, shivering at the chill that follows. My feet burn when I place them on cold stone, standing with a wobble, and I proceed to the door.

  
"Um...I think it'd be better if you laid down, for a while." A voice interjects, out of absolutely nowhere. I jump, nearly losing my balance, but warm hands grab me and keep me upright. I stare into cocoa-colored eyes - eye? I'm a little taken aback; one entire side of this guy's face is covered in three deep scars, his eye covered with a black patch and the very tip of the corner of his mouth dragged down, like it was cut and healed that way. I overcome my shock, gathering the willpower to scowl.  
"And just who the fuck are you?" He smiles, just a bit of hesitancy in his kind expression.

  
"I work here. My name's Marco, and you're Jean, correct? I don't know if I'm saying it right, but regardless, it's nice to meet you!" Why is he so damn cheery? I was nearly killed, threw up all over myself, and got stolen away into some mystery mansion from hell, and now he's smiling at me like a fucking advertiser for a new wagon.

  
"I don't care about your name. Why are you here? Why am I here? Where is here, even?" I demand, but he doesn't seem fazed by my hissing tone. Maybe he's used to it, or maybe I'm just not that impressive after he saw me nearly pissing myself.

  
"I'm here to look after you, Master's orders. You're here as a new worker for the Master in his estate, and we're up in the castle, remember - I know it's a little secluded, but we're all like a big family here, I promise!" I scowl at him.

  
"That's not what I mean. Why does he want us to work here?" His smile falters, just a bit, before he picks it back up.

  
"I can't say I know, sorry. But I promise, you'll like it here. From what I've heard, you weren't getting on so well, back at the town, right?" I nod cautiously. "Here, you'll have a warm bed, food, and everyone cares about you. If you really, truly don't like it, you can leave - but no one has ever wanted to." My lip curls. This sounds like some freaky story where everybody's enchanted, or something. But what else can I do? I doubt the townspeople would welcome me with open arms, and I'm honestly a little too scared to go back down the mountain with that...thing, roaming around.

  
I don't respond, but I don't argue, either. Instead, my stomach answers for me - a loud grumble fills the room, and Marco laughs. "Oh, you must be hungry! Here, I'll take you to the dining hall. You might want to put on some shoes, though, we had a pair made for you." I raise an eyebrow - did they just ask for my shoe size, or something? - but comply, taking the leather shoes he hands me and leaning against the wall as I slip them on. They're actually fantastic, nicer than any shoes I've ever had - soft, and well-fitting. Not that I'll tell him that, of course.

  
Walking is a little less difficult, now, but my legs are still sore from the ride up here and being tied back for so long. I'm sure my eyes have circles like tar underneath them, and I know my hair is a mess, but I'm not in the mood to care about shit like what I look like. I'm traumatized, starving, and I just woke up. I think I might just stare down a bear, right now. Since I am in such a state of no-fuckery, I decide to bring my blanket with me, slinging it over my shoulders and trudging out of the room.

  
Marco, fresh breeze that he is, beams the whole way. Leading me down endless stony hallways, he's constantly pointing someone or something out. "Look, that's Ymir," He says, and points through a window at a tall, freckled girl cutting wood outside. "She was chosen last year, and Christa - over there, with the blonde hair - decided she wanted to come too. Sweet couple, although Ymir just about murders anyone that looks at her." I run my hands through my hair, working out a few knots. As he describes more about the layout of the castle, we pass a burly blond man and his nervous-looking pal. Marco waves. "Hi! Jean, those two are Reiner and Bertholdt. You'll never see them apart." He gestures to each with their name, and Reiner holds reaches out for a firm handshake.  
"Nice to meet you, newbie! You'll like it here." I stare at him. That voice...

  
"Did you carry me inside? Last night?" He grins, nodding, and my face erupts into flames. This guy...he saw me crying and covered in puke. Great first impression. He just laughs at my reaction, slapping me on the back.

  
"Relax. Everyone makes an idiot of themselves when they're new, nothing to be ashamed of." When I give a small noise of assent, he and Bertholdt move on. I wonder why the tall boy doesn't say anything.

  
Marco continues with his tour, and we reach a staircase. "Now, there are roughly five stories, and a basement. The kitchen and dining hall is on the floor below this one, so you'll wanna go down that hall we just passed through and head for the spiral stairs here." The stairs remind me a little bit of a painting I saw once, where sinners were descending to hell. Hopefully this isn't the same.

  
Surprisingly enough, it isn't. When we reach the bottom, a warm, pleasant smell emerges to me. Like...beef stew? And fresh-baked bread. Marco must see the eagerness on my face, because he leads me to one of many long, wooden tables. "Wait here, and I'll get you some food. I think the cook and her assistant want to meet you, anyway."

  
I sit down, sniffing slightly - it's warmer in here than the rest of the castle, but there's still an underlying chill. Well...so far, this place doesn't seem so bad. A little strange, but not particularly threatening.

  
A door slams open, and I jump. "JEAN!" My name is screamed with two simultaneous voices, and at the same moment I'm hit in the gut and side by what feels like cannonballs. I struggle to escape four vice-like arms, trying to get a look at my attackers. My jaw drops.

  
"Connie? Sasha?" My two childhood friends grin at me, while Marco stands with an apologetic smile behind them. The bowl and bread in his hands pop out to me, and I push them off to sit back at the table. "What are you guys doing here? I didn't know you were chosen!" Connie plops down opposite me, and Sasha next to him.  
"They weren't." Marco answers before either of them can, setting the bowl of stew down in front of me. I take the chance to start wolfing it down while he talks. "We found them lost up here, brought them in for a while, and the Master was impressed with Sasha's cooking. So, we told them they could stay if they wanted, and they agreed." Sasha shrugs, looking pleased with the compliment.

  
"Neither of us really liked it in the village. So, we figured, why not stay here? Everyone's super nice, and I can spend all my time in a kitchen."  
"Not bad, eh?" Connie grins. I don't know what to think about this. This place...all the stories about it, everyone made it sound like a death sentence. They even treated me like someone being taken to my execution - although maybe, just maybe, that was because I cussed out the delivery man and wouldn't willingly stay in the cart. But who would?

  
"And what about the monster?" Their faces fall, in slight confusion and worry. "It didn't attack you?" I look around, for some kind of assurance that the monster is nothing to worry about. Surely Marco, at the very least, would know what was going on.

  
Instead, he stands up, face unnervingly blank. "I need to go tell the Master you're awake. Sasha, Connie, you can take care of him from here, yeah?" They nod solemnly, and he takes off. I stare at him until he passes out the door, before turning back to the uncharacteristically quiet duo.  
"Alright, so what the fuck was that?" Sasha doesn't say anything, and Connie hesitates before answering.

  
"Marco...was the first one here. The first person 'chosen'. And when he got here, he didn't follow the rules. Mainly, the gist of it is don't go in the Master's room, and don't go outside at night. That's all. Nothing bad has ever happened since that first incident, and he's taken it upon himself to be an example for us." I don't like where this is going, but there's a falling sensation in my gut that tells me I know exactly what happened.

  
"He went outside at night, to try and head back to town. The Master would have let him, he really would, but he'd told him to wait until morning. He didn't. And...he was attacked by the monster." I shake my head. No. This isn't right, no, things like that shouldn't happen to people like him...

  
"It took his eye, but the Master saved him before he was killed. And so, Marco is the most loyal to him, and the only one who is ever allowed to see his face. Apparently he was scarred up even more than Marco was." I feel sick. I knew it had to be bad, whatever hurt him, and deep down I knew what it was...but somehow, that monster that's outside...it scares me more than I ever thought possible.

  
"What is it?" There's a long silence, and this time, Sasha speaks.

  
"There's a lot of stories...everybody here has a different idea of what it is. Marco says the closest thing he can find is a wendigo. Weren't you right there with it, though?"

  
"No, I..." I don't really want to tell her I was just too wimpy to open my eyes, so I just stretch the truth a little. "I didn't get a chance to see it. Wendigo?" The closest thing I can think of is some old myth I read once, nothing like the monster I was envisioning.

  
"Yeah. He said it was really, tall, sort of like a werewolf? But its chest was open, with ribs showing and its heart and everything. Like it was dead. And it had six arms, one big pair with claws and then smaller, human sized ones. And...he always seems to freak out when he talks about this part, but its eyes...burn, into you. You can't think when you look into them. You can't breathe. It's just...terror, he said." Connie shivers.

  
"He never talks about it anymore. Just shuts down and walks away. I think he's trying to forget, but it's a little difficult when it lives right outside." My heart is pounding. Suddenly, I'm very thankful for the sunshine that pours in through the windows, wondering what was waiting outside for night to come. I must have been asleep for a while, though, because it looks like late afternoon already. Just thinking about nighttime makes me feel a little creeped out.

I start when I hear a door open, surprise showing on my face. Glancing over, I watch as three people enter the dining hall, only to have my cheeks heat up when I see familiar black locks, ones that I remember stuttering a compliment to. Mikasa.

  
And, of course, her asshole stepbrother. I'm now all-too aware of my bedraggled state and the blanket lying childishly over me, so I stubbornly keep my eyes on my stew. No luck. They start walking over to me anyway.

  
"Jean!" I look up, giving a forced smile.

  
"Nice to see you...Armin." Phew, holy shit, I almost couldn't remember his name. The blonde smiles, the select one of the trio that doesn't make me feel awkward or enraged. I can't help but be a little more genuine in return, although even just glancing at Eren's silent form makes me irritable.

  
"We heard you had a rough first day? It's not normally that bad, but the man who brought you up here didn't tell us you'd arrived. He even tied you up, they normally don't do that."

  
Eren scoffed as they sat down, the three of them in a line beside me. "Probably did something to piss him off, if he's the horseface I remember." I scowl, resisting the urge to flame up in return. I fail. "Sorry that I don't have two babysitters to look after me, asswipe." He starts to stand - you just sat down, dude, are you serious? - but stops when Mikasa places a hand on his chest.

  
"Eren. He just got here." We glare at each other, customarily, until he sits back down. Feels just like when I was a kid, visiting this place.  
"So, what happened?" Armin asks, and I can see the eagerness held back in his eyes. He always was a bit of a geek, and I can imagine him overwhelmed with curiosity for the resident monster. I take a breath, before beginning to share the details of my experience. I carefully leave out the parts where I don't open my eyes, hurl on my shirt, and start crying - although, if I remember correctly, Armin was there anyway. Well, Eren doesn't need to know- wait...fucking shit. Eren was there too.  
We talk for a few hours, everyone - even Eren and Mikasa - sharing some details about the place and telling me I'll feel right at home in a few days. I hope I will, because monster or not, this is nicer than anywhere I've ever been. Food and company go a long way, compared to an empty belly and a lonely spot in the corner of an abandoned building.

  
When the sun starts to go down, though, everyone starts acting a little weird. Apparently, that's another one of the rules - although not entirely necessary, it's best if everyone heads to their rooms for the night. Armin takes me back to mine, and the walk is uncomfortably quiet. "Marco should be back by morning, okay? He patrols the halls for a while before he goes to bed. He actually shares the room, but he should be quiet enough that you don't wake up." I notice now that there's a second bunk, against the other wall. That must be where he had been sitting this morning, even though I completely missed his presence.

  
"Got it. Night."

  
Armin smiles at me, and for whatever creepy-ass reason, he looks a little sad. "Goodnight, Jean."

  
So, I slip off my shoes and lay in bed. Even though I've barely done anything, I'm completely exhausted - maybe that's what trauma does to you, makes you want to sleep for two days straight. As such, it only takes a few seconds for me to pass out after my head hits the pillow. I dream of warmth and old friends. It's pleasant, for a while.

  
When I feel consciousness rising again, something is acutely wrong. I'm frozen stiff, and I feel a terror that makes bile rise in my throat. Stiffly, I force my eyes to open - it's nothing, it has to be nothing - and a scream catches in my throat, silently choking.

  
Two - no, one, one eye stares at me, inches away from my face. It's red and burning, set into a long face that looks like it's rotting away, skin falling away from parts of the muzzle so that fangs and bone are visible. I can't move, I can't breathe, I can only focus on it and on one thing.  
Across its face, where its other eye should be, there are three long, deep scars.

  
I scream, long and loud and filled with fear, sitting up straight in my bed to find that...it's morning? Tears streak down my cheeks, and my head twitches to the side. Lying in his bed, completely human and staring wide-eyed at me in the purplish morning light, is Marco.


	2. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco tries to learn more about the strange changes that Jean brings. 
> 
> **
> 
> "A muzzle drips with saliva, snakelike tongue slipping through its fangs to taste the air. It can feel the tear of flesh, taste rotted blood in its mouth. It hasn't fed in days. There's something else, though, more than the usual cargo of corpses. A living human. Its scent was different, somehow richer, stronger. More than any human's scent before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to update, and thanks to everyone who liked or commented! I'm delighted and honestly a little surprised this story's been received so well. Sorry if this one's a little choppy, and if you see any continuity errors, typos, or even just some awkwardly posed writing please do let me know! Thanks! 
> 
> (Also, from hereon out, I'd like to post every week.)

"Jean? Are you okay?"

My breathing is heavy, and I'm quick to wipe the tears from my face. What the hell was that all about? In the dream...it was so real. Everything about it, from the details of the monster's face to the scars that are identical to his. For a moment, as I look at his face, a shudder of fear runs through me. I chalk it down to the dream. "Yeah. I'm...I'm fine." I mutter, combing my fingers through sweat-soaked hair. "Just a nightmare." 

 

For just a second, I think I see a flash of intense...something in his eyes. It's hard to describe. If I had to put words to it, it reminds me of when you see a dying flower. Not entirely shriveled up, but wilting and soft, so that when you touch a petal it sticks to your skin.  
Wow. I'm fucking cheesy. 

 

He sits up while I flump back onto the bed, groaning. It was just a dream, just some paranoid buildup. I try to brush it off, although the nervous chill in my blood doesn't go away. "When did you even get here, anyway? I usually sleep light, you must be like a fucking cat." 

 

He chuckles softly. "I'm known for being pretty quiet. I've been here for a few hours, and I wanted to apologize for leaving so suddenly last night. It's just a little-" I cut him off before he can finish - the whole 'heart-to-heart' thing really isn't me. 

 

"It's fine. I hit a nerve, I get it, you don't need to apologize." S'not like it's the first time I've accidentally ticked someone off. For whatever reason, my honest personality and confidence seems to irritate people.  
My eyes are closed, one arm laying across them. I've never been much of a morning person. He doesn't answer for a few seconds, though, and I turn to sneak a glance at him.

 

He's simply watching me, almost...hopefully? I don't know what I have to offer him, but he sure seems to think I have something. It takes a few seconds for him to realize I see him, and he turns his face away, cheeks reddening. Hm. If he wasn't shady as hell, I'd think he was cute. As it is, it's slightly endearing and more creepy. I mean, I stare at people too, but it's still creepy. And I never look at them with that...puppydog expression. 

 

"Thank you, Jean. I'll go get us some breakfast, okay?" I nod, grateful that he's picked up on my 'I don't want to get the fuck out of bed' signal. Eyes closing once more, I hear the door creak shut. Wonderful. More time to me, myself, and I, to focus on my strangely realistic dreams and monster encounters.

 

I try to recall the beast's face, which, as it turns out, is a mistake. Suddenly, I can't move, or breathe, and all I can see are two glowing coal eyes. The face grows closer, staring into my soul, and I press back against the bedspread as though I might be able to sink into it and escape. There's a pounding, a thick buzzing in my head, and as the monster gets closer the feeling grows stronger. Louder, heavier, until I can't think for the chaos in my mind and the monster lunges at me, carcass jaws open wide and...!

 

I sit up, eyes wide and panting. That...was I asleep? No, no, Marco's not back yet, and I was only laying down for a few seconds. So why was it there? Maybe I'm just dreaming it up? After all, I never saw its face, so it's probably just a picture I saw when I was little, or something. There's no possible way I could know what it looked like. 

 

I comfort myself with these thoughts, although I'm very sure not to try and focus on the monster again. This room is fairly friendly, but it doesn't take much effort to focus on the sinister aspects of it and freak myself out. 

 

When Marco returns, I'm sitting up, pressing my lips together and staring at the floor. He looks a little put-off, but smiles anyway. "Here you go! Sasha said you'd really liked this stuff?" He places the tray on a nightstand beside my bed, and a delicious smell wafts up from it. Is this...bacon? Like, actual bacon? I've been on my own for a few years, now, so this is a delicacy I haven't had since childhood. 

 

And...oh. Oh, my fucking gosh, there are pancakes. Sasha made me pancakes. This reminds me so much of childhood, I almost forget how strange this whole situation is. I take the fork at the side of the tray, staring at it reverently for just a moment. I've been homeless for a few years, and I'd almost forgotten about silverware - it's small, and it seems dumb, but it's something I want to cherish. You don't really think about how you'll eat when you're barely getting anything to eat in the first place. 

 

I realize that there must have been a spoon last night, when I ate that stew. Gee, guys, thanks for letting me know while I ate with my hands. Ignoring that, I cut a small bite of pancake. I hold it in front of my face, taking it all in; this feels like a dream. Marco grins, all of his previous weirdo-ness replaced with what looks like delight. What's there to be so happy about? "Why the hell're you smiling like that?" I ask, assuming he's amused by my stupid reaction to some pancakes. No need to poke fun at the poor kid, asshole. 

 

He shakes his head. "You just looked so happy, it...it's nice to see such genuine reactions." I blink. That...wasn't what I expected. At all. Although I've known Marco to be a pretty alright guy, so far, I've still only known him for a day. Years of seeing people at their worsts kinda fucks up your ability to see them as anything else. 

 

"Oh. Uh...thanks? I guess?" I mutter, and I'm keenly aware of the way my cheeks burn when I speak. I'm pale as a ghost, and while many say that's a handsome feature, it's a little revealing when I'm embarrassed. He just smiles more. He's so strange. But...kind, too. 

 

I avoid looking at him, instead choosing to stuff my face with breakfast. The pancakes are even better than I remember having as a child, and I think in a back corner of my mind that Sasha's been doing some experimenting. The bacon is crisp and just the right kind of fatty, crunching between my teeth with salty bliss. However, despite my best efforts, I'm barely able to eat half of the food that was put in front of me, setting it down with a sigh of longing regret. 

 

Marco sets down his own empty plate, eyeing mine. "Mind if I finish that off?" I shake my head, and he takes it. He's a fair bit larger than me, in muscle mass if not in height, so I suppose it's natural he'd eat more. I pride myself on being lean and scrappy, which, in my opinion, is far superior to brute strength. 

 

When he's done, he gathers up the trays and dishes. Taking in my appearance as he stands, he pauses. "Would you like to take a bath?" I narrow my eyes. Subtle. But, despite this, I feel gross and there's no river to bathe in near here. 

 

"Sure." He nods, seeming relieved that I wasn't offended. 

 

"Alright! I'll take you there, then. I know Armin probably showed you the bathroom in this part of the castle, but the bathing room is much better." He says, balancing the trays in one hand to open the door. 

 

** 

 

It's been following the carriage for a long time now. The scent of meat is luring it closer, and it sees the driver glance in its direction. It isn't concerned. This particular human has been here many times before, and he knows of its presence. At least, vaguely. 

 

A muzzle drips with saliva, snakelike tongue slipping through its fangs to taste the air. It can feel the tear of flesh, taste rotted blood in its mouth. It hasn't fed in days. There's something else, though, more than the usual cargo of corpses. A living human. Its scent was different, somehow richer, stronger. More than any human's scent before. 

 

It runs ahead, and although there's weight in its stride it leaves no print, makes no sound. It has to satisfy this hunger before it comes near another human. Their scent was always tantalizing, but none like this one. It wonders if more meat has been left for it, light like coals shining ahead of it. A warning for any prey, although they'd never move once they caught its gaze. 

 

A dead pig is strapped to a pole, and it wastes no time in ripping it apart. Animal meat isn't as satisfying, but it tides the creature between human meals. Such a terrible mix it is, just alive enough to hunger constantly and just enough spirit that it cannot die. Sometimes the creature desires death more than anything. 

 

By the time the cargo arrives, it's stripped the pole of meat, marks left there from endless offerings before. The creatures ghosts to the surrounding forest. Watching. 

 

The new human struggles, falls to the ground. The deliverer follows all procedures except one, which is frustrating. The creature always does its best to be silent, invisible, but the meals are directly next to one it would wish to hide from. No one comes to get the human. 

 

So, the creature waits. And waits. It can smell the human's growing fear, parting its jaws to draw in more of the tempting aroma. Finally, it can wait no longer. It takes a step, form solidifying into physical, and one clawed foot crunches into the gravel. 

 

The human flinches. However, as it approaches, it comes to realize that the human hasn't opened his eyes. They remained closed, fixed to the ground. That is...helpful. The beast never feels more like a beast than when it eats, but at least the human isn't watching. It tears away the cloth that covers the corpses, and then goes to work. Every so often, it hears a whimper or mutters of pleading. 

 

When it has licked every bone clean of the first body, the beast moves to the second. This seems to be a breaking point for the human. Although he still refuses to look, the boy clearly understands what's happening, and the creature stops eating just long enough to watch him vomit. It returns shortly after. 

 

It hasn't been this near a human in years. Moving forward, it takes one fragile arm in hand, staring at the boy's face. It was...familiar. Perhaps that was the reason he smelled differently, but he creates an ache of nostalgia in the creature. As he pulled against his bonds, a feeble attempt at moving away, the beast wished he would open his eyes. It didn't like being seen, but it wanted to see him. 

 

The door to the castle opened, and it disappeared into the forest. It watched as the residents freed him and brought him inside, deciding it would pursue this interesting human. What it had to gain, it wasn't sure, but it was intrigued. 

 

**

 

I smile at Jean, laughing at his seemingly permanent disgruntled expression. He's still a little disoriented - which is natural, of course. I can't believe I forgot to show him the baths yesterday, but I still felt really...out of it. He seems so familiar, it puts me off. 

 

"Our bathhouse is made of stone, connected to hot springs at the base of the mountain - I honestly don't know how most of it works, the person who built this place was a miracle worker. There are several small baths throughout the castle, but most people use this big one. Oh, but don't worry, new water is coming in all the time from the springs!" The huge, steaming pool is carved into the floor, and completely empty. It's midday, after all, most people are doing something else. 

 

Jean nods, taking it in with a disbelieving look. "So...you can use this whenever? All the time?" 

 

"Yes! And all the bathing stuff, soap, towels and all that are in shelves along the walls." I gesture to them, and he turns his gaze. "Hanji makes the soap, she likes to try out new stuff. This week we have rose-scented, but it might tint you a little pink." 

 

"Hanji?" He questions, and I catch myself. 

 

"Ah, right, you haven't met her yet! She's a lot of fun, although a little much sometimes. So, do you wanna go ahead and get in? I'll get you some soap." He hesitates, but once I've turned away I hear him starting to undress. I purposely wait until I hear him step into the water, hissing a little - he was a little scraped up, I imagine it stings. 

 

Turning back, I set down a pinkish block of soap down near him, as well as a towel. "I'll leave you alone, so you can rela-" 

 

"No!" I blink at him, and as he continues his cheeks flush red. "I-I mean...it's a little freaky, being alone here. You can stay. If...you want, I mean." He doesn't look at me, eyes fixed on the frothy water. He doesn't handle embarrassment well, but it's more endearing than anything else.

 

I try not to look too amused, taking a seat against the wall. "Of course." He looks reassured, and dunks his head under the water. When he comes back up, his nose is scrunched up from the heat. I don't realize for a while that I'm staring, until he starts looking back. 

 

"Uh...do you wanna get in, or something?" He questions, and his eyes are narrowed. Way to not be a creeper, Marco. I shake my head. 

 

"Oh, no thank you. I prefer to bathe alone." I say, apology laced in my words. These wounds on my face aren't my only scars, and I'd really prefer to keep them hidden. Jean raises an eyebrow, but leaves it alone. I appreciate that. A few people - Connie, for instance - have been a little more nosy; he's a great guy, but sometimes he can't pick up on signals. 

 

It's odd and a little dangerous, to see how quickly I'm becoming enraptured with this person. I've always kept myself a safe distance away from the others; I care about them, of course, but I don't get too close to them. Already, I've spent more time with him than any of the others when they first arrived. I mean, I actually arranged for him to share rooms with me. I'm not entirely sure why I'm doing this, even, but I've got the distinct feeling that something is...different, about him. That I've seen him before. 

 

I need to talk to Armin. 

 

When he finishes bathing, I escort him to the dining hall, trying to hide my impatience. I imagine that Armin's in the library - I still remember his glee when he first arrived here, all that knowledge at his fingertips - and so I give Jean a hasty excuse. "I'm sorry, I have some business to attend to with the Master. I can be back in thirty minutes or so to take you around the grounds, if you'd like?" 

 

Jean nods, glancing at the kitchen door. "Um...okay. Are Sasha and Connie here?" His face falls just a bit when I shake my head. 

 

"No, they only make breakfast and dinner - lunchtime varies for everyone here, so it's a sort of 'make-it'yourself' kinda thing." I bite my lip, thinking for a moment. I hate to leave him here alone, but this is really pressing on me. I need to find some answers, and a discussion with Armin is probably the best way to get that. Luckily enough, I'm rescued by the sound of a door opening. 

 

Both of our eyes flicker to the door, but I can already tell who it is. A short man with narrowed eyes walks through, listening stolidly to an excitable woman speaking in a different language. He nods every few seconds, the barely noticeable raise in his eyebrows signaling that he was interested, despite his expression. I grin, relieved. "Hanji! Levi, you two arrived at the perfect time." Hanji and Levi are some of our oldest arrivals, and they were similar to Jean; foreign to the town, but on a much larger scale. They weren't even from this continent. 

 

The pair heads our way - for as much as Levi complains about Hanji, he never seems to be far from her. Everyone here has a group, a friend or friends that they're almost constantly with. 

 

Except me, of course. 

 

"Ooh, you must be the newbie! How's your stay been? It's pretty nice here, ja?" Hanji grins, and I can see she's going to drill him on his experience with the...beast. I chuckle, used to hiding my unease at the topic. 

 

Jean is very clearly nervous, despite how he tries to hide it, and my heart flutters when he steps just a tad bit closer to me as though he's using me for a shield. That's against the rules, dang it...I step away in return, placing a hand on his back. He stiffens. "Would you two mind watching out for our newbie for a while? I have an appointment with head of house, and I'd rather not leave him alone." 

 

"Alright." Levi's been examining Jean, and his voice is quiet, tilted with an accent just slightly stronger than Hanji's. The both of them make me a little uncomfortable - they're too perceiving, just like Armin. Levi looks at me. "You seem very involved." 

 

My face flushes just a bit. "He had a rough time when he first arrived. I thought I should make up for our mistake." The lie slides off my tongue as easily as all the others - this one is partially true, which makes it even easier. Jean glances at me, panic tracing his features when I turn to walk away. "Hanji, don't be too invasive, alright?" I ask with a forced laugh - although I think I fake it very well. "He's new." 

 

I leave just as Hanji begins questioning him, and smile softly. Hopefully, Jean will like it here. And as long as he doesn't find out, he'll be safe. 

 

The library is enormous, some of the higher shelves lined with dust. It's not difficult to find the blond head I'm looking for; he always sits in the same spot. My feet pad on the carpeted floor as I head in Armin's direction, and it takes me standing directly in front of him for him to look up. "I need your advice." 

 

Armin smiles, and despite how genuine it is, it's just as eerie to me as Hanji's curious grin or Levi's perceptive stare. He's kind at heart, and I know we're friends...but that level of hidden knowledge is intimidating. We all have our secrets here, and Armin just might know them all. "Of course. What's wrong?" 

 

"The...Master. He's been telling me that he's uneasy, ever since Jean arrived. That something is different." At this point, referring to 'The Master' is nothing but a formality, but I still feel better saying it. "I thought you might have more information. An idea of why." Suddenly, his expression becomes more serious, and my chest feels heavy. 

 

"Marco. You don't mean...?" 

 

My eyes widen. "No! Well...I don't think so. It is like that, I suppose...in a way. But not unbearable." He settles down a bit, but there's a certain wariness in his eyes that I can't stand. He's supportive of me, but he's seen what happens when I'm pushed past my limits. "He's safe." 

 

Armin sighs. "I know it's uncomfortable, Marco, but this seems serious. We need to drop the charade. Why did you reveal yourself to him? Eat right in front of him?" I can see he's been wanting to ask this since he found out. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment, or maybe he was waiting for me to come to him. Either way, it feels like he's prodding an exposed nerve.

 

I breathe slowly. "I...I don't know. I didn't think about it, and his scent is so...strong. Even right now, I can smell him on my clothes, on you...it draws me in." He knows I catch the shudder that runs down his spine, unnoticeable to most people. Even Armin can't help but be afraid of me, with all his knowledge, and I'll admit it hurts. But then, I suppose that's the natural response, when confronted with a predator. 

 

"Maybe there's something more, then? I don't know much about...what you are, that's true, but if you'll let me I can look." He responds evenly, tactfully. I'd told him a long time ago, when he'd confronted me about his suspicions, not to find more information about whatever kind of creature I am. Mostly because I don't want him to know...and I'm afraid to know myself.

 

I hesitate. He's not pressuring me at all, simply offering help, and perhaps this would help me stop these strange urges. I don't want to find myself standing over a body when morning comes. Not again. 

 

"Alright. But don't..." I don't finish my sentence, trying to find the right words. Armin lays a hand on my forearm. 

 

"I know you, Marco. Nothing in a book is going to change who you are." He assures me. I offer back an anxious smile. I trust him, but I don't want anyone to know about the monster that I am.

 

"Thank you." 

 

**

 

Clawed paws tap against stone, as though the creature can't decide whether it wants to be solid or ghostly. It crouches over a human, his sleeping face so much calmer than when he is awake. The beast's heart is still, but even so, it aches with a longing it can't understand. 

 

Its muzzle hangs not inches from the boy's face, each breath unnaturally cold. It fails to notice, but something has changed. The rotting spots on its sides have healed, and an unusual weight settles on it. It no longer smells of carrion, and as it watches him its body warms along with its breath. The crimson eyes, that hypnotize prey in an embrace of fear, soften, emitting a gentle golden light. 

 

And then something happens that shocks the beast to its core. The rotten, cold heart in its chest, the one that stills every night and beats with a painful thump during the day, begins to beat. At the same moment, amber eyes snap open, and there they are. The monster and the human, face to face, both still with surprise. 

 

Something is still off. The human isn't reacting like he should. Instead of fear in his eyes, there's...confusion. Concern. The beast jerks back a bit when he sits up, presses its arched spine against the wall when he moves closer. It doesn't want to touch him. Despite that, he presses forward, and with a motion that's both timid and wondering, places a hand on the top of its scarred muzzle. 

 

"Marco?"


	3. I Remember You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW ahead! This chapter is almost entirely them fucking, because I have no respect for plot. I might have finished it in a hurry, cause I have work to do, but more plot with likely follow in the next chapter, which will also be soon (cause seriously what the fuck is going on I didn't explain anything)

I've gotta say, waking up to a monster in my face isn't the most pleasant experience. But something feels...different. It didn't feel like I was waking up, exactly, more like...I was coming back to life. My chest hurts, every thump of my oddly calm heart sore. 

It's the first time I've seen the beast's face, at least while I was awake, but I feel like I've known it for a long time. It's intimidating, of course - a giant, scarred muzzle, glowing eyes, claws like scythes and fangs I can catch a slight gleam from. Even so, it isn't the same fear as before, the kind that was so unnatural and thick I couldn't move except to throw up. 

I know who it is. Or I think I do. 

There's slight panic in the golden eyes above me, scrambling back against the wall when I sit up, and it almost makes me want to laugh that this gigantic creature is afraid of me. I don't give myself time to wimp out, pressing forward until we're inches away. His breath is heavy, almost labored, and I can hear the beating of a huge heart. Slowly, trying not to envision those teeth closing on my hand, I place my fingers on his muzzle, fingers sliding over fur that's softer than it appears. He's tense, an almost frightened gaze locked on me. I know who this is, although I couldn't explain it if you asked how.

"Marco?" 

His eyes widen, and I can see his hackles raising like a threatened wolf. I'm not entirely sure what to do - if you were looking for a soothing sort of person, it wouldn't be me - but I reach up to stroke between his ears, unsure what kind of animal he reminds me of. There are speckles of red in his eyes, like blood, but I don't think that's what it is. "Uh...it's, it's okay, Marco. I'm not gonna yell or anything. You're okay." 

His enormous head lowers, and I notice stubs from his head that remind me of budding antlers. Maybe he sheds them, like stags do? He's some odd mix of animals, it's intriguing and a little scary at the same time. A long muzzle that falls somewhere between a deer and a wolf, a tongue that I swear I saw flicker like a snake's, an elegant fox's tail that swoops side to side behind him. His head - almost the size of my torso - presses into my shoulder, hunched over in what has to be the smallest corner of the room. My heart dances when he places - are they paws? - on my legs, razor claws pressing lightly into my skin, just enough that I feel their sharpness. I can't tell what I'm feeling right now, especially knowing that this is Marco, and I fucking swear I'll kill something if I pop some weird fear boner right now. 

"Uh..." I pat his head, feeling more than a little awkward - I'm sitting in a dark room, only in boxers, with some gigantic werewolf creature leaning on me like a little kid. This is by far the strangest thing I've ever done. 

So, naturally, things get even weirder. As I pet his head with stiff, unsure motions, his entire body starts shifting. Moving under my hands, and I hear a low, deep groan along with some sickening pops and slick sounds. I wince when his paws - growing closer to hands by the second - move to my shoulders, gripping tightly. 

In thirty seconds, I'm sitting very closely to a naked, panting Marco. Shit. Why does this all seem so familiar? "Are...you alright? Marco?" He still won't look at me, head hanging and sweat matting his hair down. I take a moment to look at him, thick scars on his back and side catching my attention. They look...well, they look like injuries he could have caused, a minute ago. 

He finally looks up at me, and my eyes are wide. I feel pale and a little scrawny next to him, muscles strung onto him that are undefined and practically unnoticeable on me. There's a smile on his face that makes me shudder, wide, amazed, and far too pretty. Shit. Shit, I'm totally gonna have that weird boner if he doesn't fucking cut it out. 

He doesn't. Instead, he yanks me forward with a grip that's just a little too strong, pressing warm lips to mine. This is...this is all a little much, for me, but as hot as it is it's the most comfortable I've ever felt. More than comfortable, in fact...nostalgic. Like something I've felt before, a long time ago, and can't remember. His lips mold to mine in a way that I've practiced a thousand times...or at least, that's what my body is telling me. I start to press forward, but instead he surges up to push me down and into the bed, still kissing me frantically. As sexy and confusing as this all is, I can't breathe. 

My hands press against his chest, and though it takes a few seconds for him to realize I want escape, he jerks back as soon as he does. I turn on my side, fenced in by his arms, and try to get some air in my lungs. Wheezing, I glance at him - he seems concerned, but there's still a twinkle of joy in his eyes. Asshole isn't even out of breath. 

I run the back of my wrist over tender lips, panting and only just remembering that the only item of clothing between the both of us is my underwear. My dick is telling my that's not an entirely bad thing, but my head is telling me that I've only known this guy for a few days. Although it feels like years...

I start to say something, but I'm knocked down again by this horny fucker that is Marco Bodt, his entire body pressed against mine. I can feel something hard pressing into my hip, and there's a throb of heat pulsing through me at the knowledge of what it is. How did this even happen? 

He's pressing kisses to my face now, my neck, and if I'm right, there's laughter bubbling up in his chest. "W-Wait...!" I force out, trying to find my common sense in the rush of feelings and pleasure. He slows, and I take advantage of the break to find my words. "Why...what are you doing? We don't...we don't know each other." His brow furrows.

"Jean, didn't you remember? Just now, everything...you didn't see any of that?" I shake my head, trying to subtly press my legs together and hide an enthusiastic hard-on. "Oh, Jean." His chest is pressed against mine, slick and hot, and it's getting harder to think. His lips are far too close to my ear, a shudder running through me when he whispers. "We've known each other a long time, love." He pulls back for just a moment, studying me. "Can we continue? I'll stop if you want." 

Fuck. What am I supposed to do here? I'm horny as shit, too, and this is all so comforting, so familiar...fuck it. Life is short.

Just once, I decide to let my dick tell me what to do. I'm normally better about these things. "We...we can. But I want an explanation later." As soon as he's given permission, he jumps on me again, hand sliding down my hip and rubbing small circles there. His teeth are scraping my neck, one hand threaded in my hair, and when he grinds his hips against mine I groan. "Shit, Marco, ah...!" 

It's a shock of cold air when he suddenly yanks my underwear off, and I'm almost positive I hear the fabric tear. Fuck, those were well-made, too, and I don't think he even realizes he tore them. How strong is this guy?

My thoughts dissipate when his bare cock rubs against my own with another grind of his hips, the warm pressure sending shocks of pleasure up my spine. I'm whispering frantic curses, the most I can do, at this point. Suddenly, there's a shift - he moves to settle himself between my legs, and through hazy vision I see him lift his fingers to his mouth and suck on them. My mind is too busy trying to clear itself to make the connection, and when one of those fingers presses against and into my ass I yelp. 

"Fuck! Warn me, first!" I clutch his arms, feeling the muscles tense under my fingers. He mumbles an apology, and I let out a breath in an attempt to relax. Soon, he's added another one, and there's a dull burn, but it isn't too horrible. The faint pleasure I feel is suddenly amplified by a thousand, and I arch up with a choked whine of his name. His fingers almost slip out of me with the sudden motion, but then he smiles. 

"There?" His fingers rub that spot, more gently now, and I find myself twitching and keening, unable to think past jolts of oh-fuck-I-need-more-of-that. He stretches me a few more times three fingers - when did he add a third? - scissoring inside me and feeling unspeakably odd, but so damn good, before slowly removing them. 

Anxiety bubbles in my stomach at the thought of the next step, and I swallow. "Go...slowly, alright? Really slowly." He kisses my forehead, and I think it's funny that someone so comforting and safe could seem so dangerous at the same time. 

"Of course, love. If you want me to stop, just say so."

The head presses against me, hot and a little slick, and I realize he must have used spit to lubricate his cock, too. I take in a sharp breath when it pushes inside, burning and stretching, but just under my limit. My fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving little half-moon marks. 

He lets out a low breath, and I forego staring away to the side to look at his face. There's a drip of sweat going down his temple, hair loose and falling around his face, one swollen lip caught between teeth that I now notice are just a little sharper than they should be. My dick throbs. Damn. 

He finally manages to get all the way inside, and I'm panting into his shoulder. He's...big, and it stings, but I can feel a ghost of that same pleasure from earlier. His stomach occasionally rubs against my cock, and that makes it a little easier. "You can...you can move." 

The first pullback is slow and a little painful, but when he gives a shallow thrust back inside, moans resonate from the both of us. With some work, we manage to pick up, sliding in and out with more and more ease. He's starting to bottom out with every thrust, sending sharp tingles into the pit of my stomach until I'm whimpering into his ear, arms wrapping around his neck. "Harder, Marco...fuck, ah, faster!" 

The feral growl I get in return is almost frightening, and his hands tighten on my hips, slamming into me. It's just on the right side of rough, the kind of thing that's fantastic in the moment but makes you walk funny later. I have no idea what I'm saying, now, babbling obscenely until I just sink my teeth into his shoulder and claw at his back instead of speaking. His pace picks up even more, thrusts growing wobbly and uncoordinated, and he whines, "J-Jean, Jean, fuck, you're so...hot, and tight, fuck...!" 

It's too much when one of his hands wraps around my cock, sliding up and messily pumping me, and I jolt around him as I come, hot and wet onto my stomach and his hand. He stills inside me, tense and whimpering as he comes. Finally, he collapses next to me on the tiny bed, and I realize with distaste that we're both covered in sweat and come. Marco doesn't seem to care. 

I can't believe I just fucking did that, and I say as much. "I can't believe I just fucking did that."

He laughs, and I feel another kiss at my hairline. The moonlight that was shining through the window must have been hidden by clouds, because it's dark now. "I love you." 

Why does this feel so...normal? I want to ask more, but when he presses his face into my hair and wraps an arm around my shoulders, I'm too tired and warm to pursue it. Questions in the morning. He pulls the blanket over both of us, and I forget to care.

 

**

"Marco. Marco, get the fuck up, now!" I hear a voice hiss, and it takes a moment to realize where I am. Pale arms are draped over me, and I slip out of them to sit up. Jean? I'm sleeping in a bed with Jean? Why? And what's that smel- oh. Oh, no, this is bad. This is very bad. What happened? 

"Marco! What did you do?" I look up into Armin's face, and he's looking alarmed and extremely pissed off - scarily so. I haven't heard him curse in years. 

"I..I don't know, I don't remember anything!" I whisper back to him, frantic. I can't have been drunk, that's impossible for me now, but clearly something happened last night that I don't remember. 

Armin sighs and rubs his forehead. "Of course. Of course, you don't remember. But you're human and obviously you were human last night, because by those hickeys, he wasn't exactly opposed to whatever you did. This is something new, Marco, and it's not safe to be around him now-" 

"Marco?" I hear the sleepy voice, and wince. Jean sits up, a not-entirely-woken-up look of contentment on his face, and he opens his mouth to say something else before seeing Armin standing by the bed. He jolts. "Fuck! Armin! I, I...what the fuck are you doing in here?" He asks hurriedly, pulling up the blankets to cover his marked-up chest - did I do that? 

Armin mutters another curse under his breath, and it sounds foreign coming from his mouth. "Look, I'll leave you two alone to sort this shit out, and then you-" He points his finger accusingly at me, "Are coming to talk to me! Alright? Alright." With that, he storms out of the room, and I wonder why people don't realize that Armin is fucking scary. 

I turn to Jean. "Uh...so...what exactly happened last night?"

His face drops. "You don't remember?" When I shake my head, his brows furrow in anger. "Are you serious? You fucking - damn it." He runs a hand through his hair, clearly irritated, and gives a few short, succinct words that make my heart freeze in terror.

"I know what you are."


	4. I Remember Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's past, (mostly) explained!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE YA GO MOTHERFUCKERS  
> 3K WORDS OF UNEDITED MUSH WRITTEN IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO VACATION  
> (There probably won't be any more updates this month, I have a shitload of work to do in like ten days and then a ten day vacation after that, sorry!)

This castle is too big, too empty. I keep getting lost, and the Mistress is...something isn't right with her. Sometimes I can hear her screaming at night, or talking to herself, and during the day she does nothing but pace and snap commands. 

I was left in this place about a year ago, on my twelfth birthday. My parents - or at least, the people that were taking care of me; I don't think they were ever my parents - got in trouble with this lady, somehow. I don't know exactly what they did, maybe tried to steal something from her? But when she demanded to be repaid, they left me to work for her. 

She was...alright, at first. Scary, and sometimes I would catch her looking at me with a weird expression that I still can't place. But she was fair, and she gave me time to adjust. 

Things are different now. 

She's on a trip to the village right now, the little one down the hill, and I don't know what she's doing. This isn't the first time she's gone, but it is the first time she's been there this long. I just go about my usual chores, sweeping the hallways and occasionally stopping to let a spider out the window. 

I jump when the boom of a closing door announces her arrival. Along with it, though...crying? Not a baby, though, someone maybe a little younger than me. Timidly, I make my way to the door, peeking around the corner of a staircase. She sees me, and drops a small child that she must have been carrying on her shoulder. He hits the ground with a thud, and she turns to walk away. I'm torn between running to help him and waiting for her orders, but she works it out with her next words. 

"Take care of him. He'll be living with you for the next...well, forever." i scuttle forward to crouch by this boy, who doesn't seem to want to open his eyes. He's covered in blood, but it doesn't look like he's hurt, just scared. I'm not going to ask. 

Instead, I try to pull him to his feet, grunting under the limp weight. He lets out a few more sobs, and I sigh. He's not going anywhere until I can stop him crying. 

"Hey. Would you look at me? I won't hurt you, okay?" I murmur to him, letting him back down to sit on the floor. Pulling my sleeve up over my hand, I reach up and wipe his face clean, smiling when he opens his eyes. He's a little round-faced, still clinging to the baby weight that I've outgrown after a year of constant work. But his eyes are pretty, a sharp amber that doesn't quite match his childlike appearance. 

He sniffles a few times, eyes watery and red. I decide to try a little more talking - it seemed to calm him down. "I'm Marco. What's your name?" 

He swallows, sniffs again. Stares at me with the most piteous expression for just a few more seconds, before muttering, "Jean." 

**

When Jean turns fifteen, we share our first kiss. By the time he's twenty-one and me twenty-three, we're so used to each other, if we ever spend even a day apart it's too much. He still hasn't told me what happened that first day he arrived, but I don't ask. Even so, it's hard not to notice the way he tenses when Mistress looks at him. 

She's taken in at least one new servant a year, but none of them as young as we were. I think that's why they try to run away - and after that, we don't see them again. Like most other things, I don't ask about it. Ignorance is bliss, they always say, and I intend to stick to blissfulness. 

The Mistress has gotten even worse over the years. I don't see her sleep anymore, and I've cleaned bloody sheets more times than I'd like to remember in the last year alone. Sometimes there's something dead wrapped up in them, and I take very special care not to see it. 

"Mistress." Her head snaps to me, bloodshot eyes too focused and jittery at the same time. She gnaws at her lip like she always does, a little sore at the spot from where she's bitten it to nothing. "Would you like me to make you some tea? You seem...stressed." 

At first she doesn't answer, and then she smiles. She doesn't seem pleased, though - rather, the smile is full of something I'd call 'seething hatred'. I swallow. We're in her parlor, alone - she'll do that sometimes, call me in to do nothing but sit in silence with her. Jean is tending to the north wing of the castle.

"Marco." She hums. "Sweet, Marco - you really do care about me, don't you? You and your lovely little Jean-boy. That's what his mother called him, you know." 

"I know." She's told me before.

"You're too happy, Marco, too kind. It could almost make a girl jealous." She laughs, and I manage to keep a nervous smile along with the sound. Her demeanor changes in a matter of seconds, and she says coldly, "Go back to your quarters. Don't come out until I call for you." 

I nod hastily, murmuring a, "Yes, Mistress."

**

It isn't for a few hours when a small bell rings, placed in a row of others at the door. This one leads to the dining hall, and I'm quick to jump up from my bed and head there. 

What I see isn't anything I'd expected. 

The Mistress sits at the head of the long dining table, two bowls of what look like some kind of fancy stew along with her. One is placed in the spot beside her, fully laid out with utensils and all. It actually does smell delicious, but something's making me uneasy. 

"Marco!" She exclaims, and gestures to the spot beside her. "Sit down. I've prepared dinner for you - with how much you work, I thought it was time for me to make the meal. Go ahead and eat, love." 

With a quiet nod and thanks, I sit at the place beside her. She smiles at me again, but with her reddened eyes that are just a bit too wide, it's nothing but unsettling. Slowly, I pick up the spoon set beside me, watching her with wary eyes as she nods, urging me to eat. I don't like this, but there's nothing to do but obey her.

She starts to eat along with me, and I note the odd taste of the meat - it's unfamiliar, but as I continue, it starts to grow on me. By the end of the bowl, the last bite is delicious, and I'm almost willing to lick it clean to get more of that mysterious flavor. Something's wrong. Something is very, very wrong, and when I look up at her too-broad smile my gut sinks. 

"Wonderful, Marco, wonderful!" She nearly shouts, standing up. Her own bowl is half empty, a chunk of meat landing in front of me as she knocks it over. Without even thinking of it, I snatch it up, stuffing it my mouth and groaning. She laughs, and I wonder what this stuff is that it's making me act so strangely. 

Suddenly, she pulls off her shirt, and I'm left to stare with bewilderment. All along her arms, there are V-shaped notches, red, open wounds, like someone had just cut flesh out of her. I don't- what? No. No, that can't be it, that would be insane...!

"I'm sure that by now you've realized I'm a monster, Marco." She says, and now it's a whisper, eyes wide, and she looks eerily like a child. "I'm tired of being the only one." 

No. 

"Of course, this alone wasn't enough to do it - no, I needed one more...ingredient. Not flesh, this time, don't worry - I've made sure your first meal was completely intact. Come with me." Mindlessly, I get up, follow her, trying to comprehend exactly what it is that she's done to me. I feel like I'm going to throw up. 

When she opens the kitchen door, my blood runs even colder than it already is. I'm unable to do anything but sit and stare at first, the person I love chained to the wall, a half-bandaged wound around his neck and a bowl tinged red resting almost innocently on the floor. He turns to look at me, eyes blinking slowly - blood loss? 

"What did you do?" I scream, and she just laughs again. 

"I needed blood to do the full transformation, so I found it. Poetic, isn't it? Now you two can really be one." She glances at the window, pointedly. "Night is coming, Marco. You'll find out what I did very soon. And I'm so excited to see your first meal!" It takes a second to put what she's saying together, eyes widening in horror. She doesn't mean...?

"No! You're insane!" I shout, and she nods. 

"You're right. But don't worry, love, because soon? You will be, too. All of our kind are insane." Our...kind? 

"Ah, here it comes!" She crows, and I keel over when a horrible pain starts to overtake me - needles and knives, bones breaking - it feels as though my blood is actually boiling within me. I scream, but as the sound escapes my throat it turns into something else. More of a shriek, a snarl, something completely inhuman. My vision is blurred, but I can see the Mistress changing as well. "It hurts at first, doesn't it?" She sounds gleeful, her voice distorted and monstrous. "You'll get used to it, love!"

The pain comes to an abrupt stop, and I feel cold. Something's wrong with my chest, wrong with my head, and I'm following something that smells unspeakably wonderful. It takes a second to realize I've moved, turning to stare with sharper eyes at a shape that seems like food to me. It's only when I've raised up onto two back legs, ready to devour this...thing, that a small noise in the back of my head rouses something in me. 

"Marco!" 

Marco. Who is that? And where is that...voice, I realize. It's a voice, calling...my name? I shake my head, but it persists. "Marco! Marco, it's me, it's Jean, Marco, please listen to me!" Familiar sobs reach my ears, ones that I heard a long, long time ago. I can't focus. 

A snarl that I've heard in my nightmares sounds behind me, and I'm grateful for the distraction. I turn to face what I instinctually know is a threat, staring at what I suppose is one of mine. Her pelt is rotten, grey fur barely visible, and skin is falling from around her face as though it's been peeled away. Long limbs that I feel should be lined with muscle are thin and covered in sores, too long and unnatural. Her eyes are red and crazed, and before I can realize it, she's leaping at me, claws like cracked daggers aiming for my motionless heart. 

It isn't much of a fight. I'm dizzy, and salivating from the overwhelming scent, but she's weak and breaking down. I lose focus of what's happening, of myself, for a long time. When I wake up - or at least, that's what it feels like - I've plunged my claws into her chest, and she grins at me with yellowed fangs. There's a dripping pain across my face, over my eye. Later, it will heal; I'll still be able to see, but my eye will look so grotesque I'll cover it anyway. 

"If I can't be loved..." She gasps, black liquid that's like blood but too thick and too cold running from her chest, trickling between her jaws, "Neither can you." Something happens to me, something I don't...I don't...with a long exhale of sickly breath, I fall over, and a figure slipping out the door is the last thing I register before the world goes black. 

**

I blink as I wake up, disoriented and trying to remember what brought me here. Memories come flooding back with a cold wash of horror, and I can see the carnage that took place here - smears of darkened blood, gashes in walls and stone, and an overwhelming smell of rot. 

Against the wall, there are some ropes, and a bowl coated with a dark substance I suspect is dried blood. But...whose? I can't make anything of it. 

I spend the next two years alone. Every night, I'll pace in the Mistress' old room - it's secure, hard to get out of. When I figure out how to escape from it, I start to wake up with bodies lying on the ground beside me, half-eaten. Sometimes there are just bones. 

The third year, I decide to try and pick up her old practice. I ask the village for a servant; it's scary, bringing a fragile human into this place, but I'm starting to go insane alone. The first one is a girl named Mina. The next year, a boy named Thomas, and the next a pair, Franz and Hannah. Things go well. I've worked out a system with the town - they give me their dead, and the mysterious killings stop. I don't wake up beside corpses anymore, and none of the townspeople are brave enough to pursue it. 

Then Mina stumbles into my room one night, confused and concerned at the sounds she hears. I can't remember much of that night - flashes. Mina screaming in front of me, Hannah trying to revive a Franz that's been nearly cut in half, eyes glazed over and dead. Thomas limp and warm flesh sliding down my throat. The next year is another one I spend alone. 

But the village never seemed to realize I didn't want more people - the next offering time, three people arrive at my door. Friends, and prepared to die for each other, it looks like. One, the girl, stands in front of them, holding a little sharpish stick and grim resolution in her eyes. None of them were more than twelve. 

So, I took them in. I was scared to, scared to be around people, but...they smelled familiar. Something comforting and safe, and for the first few weeks they were there, it was enough to keep me alert and myself during my transformations. After that, I decided to leave the castle at night - better to kill animals, or even townspeople, than these children that had started to grow to trust me. I constantly feel like I'm missing something, especially when I catch what's only a trace of that scent on them, now.

Armin's the first one to realize I'm not aging. He's seventeen now, slamming open the door to confront me, and catching me directly in the middle of a transformation. By now, we've a few more people - Sasha, Connie, Bertholdt and Reiner. Hanji was the most recent one, and sometime halfway through the year she was joined by the stoic Levi. 

It's very nearly another massacre. But somehow, Armin manages to keep me myself - talks to me, stays calm. Doesn't let that fear I know he feels make him panic, and in turn make me attack. That night is spent pacing my room like a caged beast, eyes flickering to the window and bolted door. To Armin as he sits on my bed, reading and leaning on the headboard like he was in a library armchair. 

When I wake up, I don't tell him how I heard his heart racing. 

It's a few months before we find a solid answer - sometimes Armin will come sit with me at night, remind me that I'm still a person. Or at least, I think I am. 

Then, one night, as I lay against the far wall and watch dents form in the stone when I flex my claws, he says he knows what I am. A wendigo. 

Ghostly, half-creatures and half-spirits. Dead. Some ritual where they perform an act of cannibalism - of course it isn't as easy as eating a person, you need the flesh of a wendigo to become one. The Mistress turned me into a monster, because she was one. Cursed with an endless hunger, one that can never seem to be quite satisfied. 

The depictions in his book of monsters are a little more...well, monstrous than I'd like to believe - I've never seen myself, though. And when I turn to him and ask, "Do I really look like that?" he doesn't respond. 

We accumulate more people. A girl named Annie, who somehow seems to know Bertholdt and Reiner. Everyone here seems to know each other. Moblit. A woman named Petra. Enough people for me to lose track of. 

And then, one night, I follow a scent I swear I know. Dried blood caking the rim of a bowl, three children with lingering traces of it, a certain bed in the room I slept in before the Mistress died - one of two beds in that room. Sometimes I look at it expecting to see someone laying there, but I don't know who. 

And then, days later, I find myself sneaking into the room that I, for whatever reason, decided to place him in. Staring at that familiar face, before my blood warms and my heart starts thumping and, after what feels like an eternity, I remember. 

I remember him.


End file.
